


7 Minutes In Heaven

by Rinax



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Homophobic Language, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinax/pseuds/Rinax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein has never forgotten his fifteenth birthday and the opportunity he let slip through his fingers.<br/>What happens when he bumps into the boy that disappeared from his life years later?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at an Attack on Titan fic so just bare with me, I beg of you.

_Jean Kirschtein's fifteenth birthday was a day he would never forget. It started out as a simple birthday party._

There were kids running around the yard, parents chattering amongst themselves, and gradually as the day coursed on, the guests moved inside of the large home.

The kids had taken to the basement, which was large, furnished and created specifically for the Kirschtein's young son, Jean.

"Hey, have you ever heard of 7 minutes in heaven?"

"7 minutes in what? What the hell is that?"

"Cool it, Jean. 7 minutes in heaven. It's a party game."

The twelve of them, including Jean, had sat themselves in a circle. Their conversations consisted of teenage gossip and nonsense until Connie brought up that game.

_It had to be that game._

Once the rules were established and the young Kirschtein firmly rejected the idea, he was shoved into the small closet at the end of the large room by Reiner and Eren. It was only a moment after that someone else was shoved in, as well, and the small space under the door was blocked by what was assumed to be a pillow.

It was pitch black and suddenly, knowing that there was another body mere inches away from him, Jean grew nervous.

What if it was Sasha? What if it was Annie? Or maybe Mikasa!?

The rules were explained pretty simply to him, and if any one of those girls were across from him right now, he had the chance of a lifetime. He had an opportunity that, surely, no teenage boy in their right mind would pass up.

Without being able to see, however, he grew cautious. What if it was one of the guys? What if they were screwing with him? Now his stomach twisted and he instantly hesitated, mouth growing dry with his growing anxiety. The air was becoming thick and it was driving him crazy as he became more paranoid over the situation.

Finally, he made a decision. They had seven minutes, right? Just enough time for some small talk before any action needed to take place.

"Hey, mind if I ask who got stuck in here with me?"

Silence.

"Uh? We don't have a lot of time, you know. Sorry about all of this but it would be nice to know which one of you it is."

The silence persisted for another minute before finally there was a soft.."It's me."

Jean instantly knew that voice. There was no mistaking it. He could never.

"Marco!? What the hell are they thinking!?"

Marco Bodt. Calm, quiet and composed at all times. He only ever flushed when someone pointed out his freckles. They were a sensitive subject to him and in reality, even for Jean, it was hard not to find it cute. The kid was pretty adorable, in his own weird way. Jean wasn't going to be the one to deny that.

"Ah, damnit, I'm sorry Marco. I don't understand why they have to be such assholes."

That soft voice simply told him it was nothing to worry about and a moment later, Eren announced that they had two minutes left.

"We can just leave, ya know, Marco. It's alright."

Again he was welcomed with silence and he finally sighed, hand reaching in the dark to feel if the kid was actually there with him. Discovering that he was, Jean let his index finger hook around Marco's before he tugged. Then the thought hit him. What if he did kiss Marco? No one would know, right? How could they? Marco was someone pretty important to him, after all, and kissing him would probably be nice.

It took him a moment before he caught himself and shook his head, cheeks a bit warm as he caught himself in the middle of those silly ideas. No way could he kiss Marco. That would just be wrong!

"At least talk to me if we're going to be stuck together for another minute. Jeez."

What he couldn't see was that the other was bright red. The darkness masked Marco's embarrassment perfectly but it couldn't stop his feelings. What Jean didn't know was that he had requested to be thrown into that small, stuffy closet with the blonde.

"Jean.."

"Hn? What?"

"I.."

"TIMES UP."

Suddenly they were blinded, the light from the large basement pouring in from the now opened door.

What was supposed to be a welcome with laughter and smiles actually turned into concern.

Jean didn't understand until he looked from his group of friends to Marco. He was bright red and teary eyed.

"Marco wh-"

No time to say a word before the dark haired boy took off. Jean was left standing in the closet, confused and concerned.

Once the party came to an end and everyone went to their respective homes, Jean was left by himself in that large basement. The only thing on his mind was the expression Marco had when they were finally cast back into the light earlier that evening.

What did he want to say? Why did he look so hurt? Jean couldn't wrap his head around it. He didn't understand anything but he knew something wasn't right. He felt it. Somewhere deep in his chest, it hurt. The expression Marco wore had wounded him.

"Damnit!"

Rolling over, he covered his face with his pillow, tightly closed his eyes and simply wished for morning to come. He'd text Marco, have him come over, and figure out what the hell went wrong.

_What he didn't know was that when he woke that morning and went down for breakfast, he'd be told that Marco had moved out of town._


	2. Just One Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been ten years since that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler; All chapter titles are Fall Out Boy songs because Fall Out Boy represents Jean's life.

_Ten years._

Today was Jean Kirschtein's twenty fifth birthday.

There was no birthday party as there had been ten years ago. There were no friends gathered around. There was only Jean, trapt in that office chair of his nine to five job.

It's safe to say that this wasn't the plan he had for his life.

"Happy fucking Birthday." 

With his work done, he took an early leave. What was the point of sitting around a nearly empty office? No, his plans were to head to the nearest bar and drown himself in alcohol.

While he was a regular at about three of the nearby bars, he decided to be a little spontaneous for his birthday and try one of the smaller ones that he hadn't had the chance of going to before.

What the hell, right? He wasn't getting any younger.

\------------------

The place was tiny. It was made of brick and looked as if it had been around for centuries. Despite the displeasing outside, however, the inside was quite nice. It was warm, heated by a large fireplace that rest at the end of the open hall and throughout the space were small tables set up in an even, neat fashion. Straight across from the front entrance was the bar, which stretched from one end of the place to the other.

It was obviously well kept, cleaned regularly, and even smelled quite nice. Jean picked up on why when he noticed the no smoking sign that rest just to the right of him. Maybe this wasn't the right place for him to spend his birthday, after all. How could he sit in a bar and not light himself a cigarette? It just wouldn't feel right.

As he was about to turn and leave, a voice caught him off guard. A voice he hadn't heard in ten long years. It was to the left of him, and though he couldn't see who it had come from, he knew.

"Welcome! You look like you're ready to leave! That won't do! Why not sit and have a drink first?"

There was no mistaking it. He never could when he was a kid, and he couldn't do it now. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned himself in the direction of that voice, his entire body going rigid at the sight. What a fucking birthday this was!

"Wait a minute, I know you. Jean!? Jean Kirschtein!?"

Jean was stuck in place, the man that was obviously taller than him now, moved closer. Jean wasn't going anywhere, however. His body was rigid, palms sweaty and heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. This just had to be some weird hallucination. Right? There was no way Marco was standing in front of him. No, it couldn't be him. He disappeared ten years ago and never even bothered with a phone call the entire time.

Yet, here this guy was, standing right before him, that looked exactly like Marco.

Just..an older..much more...attractive..version.

"Jean? Hey, are you alright? You're really pale."

Suddenly, as his voice hit his ears one more time, something broke inside of Jean. He heard it. There was a tiny little crack that echoed in the back of his mind, and all the blonde could feel was anger. Well, not just anger. There was anger, frustration, confusion, and just raw pain. Raw pain that he had held onto for ten long years.

"Don't.."

"Hm?" 

"Don't say my name so easily!"

It was obvious that Marco didn't understand why such a harsh tone was so necessary but it was. If he wasn't cruel, he'd fall apart, and there was no way Jean was doing that. Not right now, at least.

"You disappear for ten years and think it's alright to act friendly with me!? Fuck that! You didn't even call me! Didn't even send me a god damn letter!"

With his anger came the ever growing urge to drink and so he marched himself forward, limbs finally responding to what his mind had been screaming at them that entire time. He didn't give Marco time to respond, and he didn't plan to. He didn't want to hear some pathetic excuse about his parents changing jobs or something cliché like that. It would just make him sick.

"You obviously work here, so get me a drink. Something strong."

Why he decided to stay was something he would probably never understand. The opportunity to turn and run was right there but instead he took a seat on one of the overly comfortable bar stools and demanded a drink by the very person he didn't want to see.

This really was one fucked up birthday, huh?

Marco hadn't said anything to the demand, he simply went to work on making Jean a drink and it only served to raise his anger. Though, since he was seated and festering, he had time to get a good look at the larger man. At what he had become.

The freckles Marco had always been famous for still seemed to cover him, as Jean caught glimpses of them all along his exposed arms, and they were still very evident on his face. His shoulders were much more broad now, muscles quite evident under the white button up that fit his form perfectly. It wasn't anything overwhelming, as he still looked quite slender, his tall body seemed to take to growing quite nicely.

Jean found himself getting angry over that, too.

Why the hell did this asshole have to turn out so damn good looking? That was just cruel. How could he stay so angry when he couldn't tear his eyes away from that perfect ass!? Damn, did he have an ass, too.

He only stopped looking when Marco finally turned, placing a rather large glass of alcohol before him.

"You said you wanted something strong, right? That's one of the strongest drinks I can make for you."

Choosing to ignore him, Jean snatched the glass and took a nice big gulp, only to regret it seconds later. He found himself hunched over, throat burning and eyes watery as he hacked, desperate for some air.

"Jean! Please, be careful!"

When the water was presented to him, he took no time before chugging the entire glass, gasping loudly when he finished. The burning was less but it remained for a bit, though it was now tolerable.

"You disappear for ten years only to show up and try to kill me. This is fucking great."

Even with his complaints, he focused on taking smaller sips of the deadly concoction. It may have burned but he knew it would fuck him up, and that's exactly what he wanted. Maybe he'd forget Marco completely and actually move on. God only knows it had been ten plus years that he was stuck with such annoying feelings for the other.

"You know, Jean, it wasn't my choice to leave."  

"That's no fucking excuse."

"There were circumstances, Jean."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Jean.."

"I said I don't want to fucking hear it! You left, alright? You fucking left and I totally get that but you left after showing me that stupid fucking face and you think that was fair to me? Do you know what that did to me? No? Of course fucking not because you never tried to contact me! Not even a stupid fucking letter, Marco!"

Throat burning, head spinning, he slapped a twenty on the counter and stood up. There was no way he was going to sit and hear those disgusting excuses. There was also no way he was making it home by himself. That wasn't realized until he stood up, felt like he had been on one of those stupid anti-gravity rides for an hour, and sat his ass right back down.

Just as quickly as he sat back down, he snatched his cell and looked through his contacts. Who the hell could he call? There was no one to call. Everyone went and moved on with their lives. He was the only one still stuck in that shitty town with a shitty job living a shitty life.

"Jean, let me take you home."

"Shut up. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'll walk."

"Jean, you can't even stand. I'm taking you home."

Who the hell did he think he was? He leaves him for ten years only to show up as some fancy bartender who thinks he can take charge of an obviously hopeless situation. That wasn't right. Jean knew it, and somehow, he still found himself in the passenger seat of Marco's car.

"Do you still live in the same place?"

"Fuck no. You think I'd still live with my parents?"

"Alright. Well, where do you live?"

"By Eren's old place. That apartment building."

The drive was silent, and he was actually kind of grateful that Marco didn't say anything. The alcohol really did a number on him, and his only guess was that the freckled male understood that and kept to himself. When they were finally parked, Jean didn't make a move. The movement of the car furthered his dizziness and he could barely hear the sigh that came from right next to him.

Before he could comprehend anything, he was being helped out of the car and to his room, which was on the second floor. Somehow, without his understanding, they made it. He felt like he had been carried but he wasn't sure. Could Marco carry him? Was that possible now? Either way, he knew he had to get inside to get away from the freckled monster but his keys felt foreign to him and they fell from his grasp after a minute of stupidly fumbling around.

"Jean, you're never getting a drink like that again."

Marco's soft laugh was like a sweet song to Jean in his drunken state and when the door was finally opened, he felt himself falling. Without realizing, he had rested himself against it and with his support suddenly taken away, he was heading right for the floor. Instead of rough carpet, however, he was welcomed by a firm, muscle lined chest.

Dizziness slowly subsiding, he attempted to push himself back only to find that he was being held against the other, large arms around his waist trapping him there.

"Let go of me!"

Warm breath fanned over his neck and he shuddered, trying to turn his head to see Marco's face. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he think he could just take advantage of him because he was drunk!?

"Marco wha-"

"I'm sorry."

Jean's fingers twitched as they rest against Marco's firm chest, eyes a bit wide at the sudden apology.

"What? What the hell are you saying?"

"I'm sorry, Jean. I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for never calling you or sending you letters. I'm sorry."

Why did he have to do this when he was wasted? Didn't the idiot know he'd forget it all come morning? Didn't he understand that? Jean obviously didn't. Even as he told himself, he couldn't prevent his eyes from burning at the sudden threat of tears. No way in hell was this fair. The freckled bastard leaves him out of the blue and out of the blue he's back, pushing his way right back into Jean's heart like he had never left.

"Fuck you! S-shut up. I don't want to hear it! It doesn't mean anything!"

The words were followed by a sob he had fought to hold back but failed, face soon red and blotchy as he hid himself in Marco's chest.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!"

The words were repeated until they became incoherent little mumbles, the arms around him felt suffocating but oddly comfortable, and he hated it.

Jean just couldn't understand it.

_Why the hell did his birthdays always have to suck?_

 

 


	3. Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol is supposed to make you forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little pause, guys. Grown up stuff took over my life. This chapter is also kinda lame cause writers block but yeah, here ya go~

_Waking up with the worst hangover of his life was just the start of this horrible day._

The events from the night were the first thing to run through his mind when he woke up.

Despite the killer migraine, Jean managed to go over everything that happened, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

So Marco was back. Marco was back and he helped him into to his apartment and into his room and into bed. Of course, this was all AFTER he got the poor blonde wasted. Though, despite Jean's anger toward the freckled man, he knew that wasn't his intention. He was simply following an idiotic order given to him by an idiot.

Now, it wasn't like he expected to wake up and see Marco next to him, but the way his stomach twisted at the realization that he was alone was worse than usual. Knowing Marco was back had woken something inside of him that he had attempted to put to rest long ago.

"Motherfucker. You did it again."

But as he spoke, he rolled over, and a small piece of paper that was resting next to a glass of water and what looked to be pain medication caught his eye.

Reaching, he snatched the small sheet and took to reading, his anger gradually diffusing as he went through what was written down in that perfect handwriting.

\------- 

_Jean,_

_I'm sorry I have to leave you with just this but it's better than completely disappearing again, isn't it?_

_I'm not sure if you want to see me again. I'm pretty sure you never wanted to see me to begin with. I wanted to see you, though. Since the day I left, I've wanted to see you._

_Our first meeting obviously wasn't the greatest, and I want to redo it. I want to redo everything, Jean._

_So please, just..give me a call sometime._

_(xxx) xxx-xxx_

_-Marco_

\-------

The numbers at the bottom of the note stuck to his brain like glue but he crumpled the paper. He crumbled it, ripped it up, and tossed it into the nearest garbage. A few words like 'I wanted to see you' weren't enough to get him. Not after ten years. No way in hell.

"Fuck that. Fuck you. Go to hell."

He mumbled to himself the entire time he took the pain meds and continued to mumble as he stumbled toward the bathroom to shower. He felt utterly disgusting.

He wanted to wash away the warmth he still felt in the pit of his stomach from Marco's arms around his body. He wanted to wash away the image of his face and the way his eyes lit up when he recognized him. He wanted to wash away everything that transpired that night.

\-------

A week had passed since they were reunited, and Jean hadn't even attempted to call Marco. He refused to. Where would it get him? He wasn't going to be left again.

Somehow, however, he found himself in front of that little bar. It was nearly midnight at this point and he was tired from work but he couldn't stop himself. Without even realizing, his feet had brought him to that large, almost intimidating door.

"Shit. What the fuck am I doing? Fuck this."

As he was about to turn, however, he spotted something that set his insides ablaze. Through one of the smaller windows next to the entrance, he could see Marco speaking to someone. Now, that was perfectly fine, but the way he looked was unsettling.

He looked..uncomfortable. Almost scared. It seemed like a drunkard had stumbled his way into the bar and was harassing Marco.

Well, there was no way Jean was having that.

Quietly entering, he kept his back flat against the door once he was inside, eyes glued to the scene. If Marco could handle it, he'd let it go. If he felt like he needed to intervene, he planned to.

"Oh come on. You like that shit, dontcha? Gettin' it up the ass? Isn't that your thing?"

"Sir, please. That's not appropriate. I'd appreciate it if you left the bar."

"Left the bar? Whatcha gonna do if I don't leave? Huh? What can a fag like you do?"

The words alone were enough to get him to take a step forward but he paused, determined to see how Marco handled the situation.

That was when he was noticed, and those eyes looked desperate for help, and he felt a strong tug inside of him. Right at his heart.

"Shit. Alright, enough is enough, buddy. It's time for drunkards to go home."

Now it was obvious he had caught the man off guard as he approached but what happened next was more than unexpected.

"JEAN!"

Before he could even comprehend it, a large fist caught the corner of his jaw and everything was spinning.

"So when one fag needs help, he calls another. That's some funny shit."

The blow rattled his brain but as he regained some sense of the situation, he spotted Marco and that was all it took.

"Alright you fat fucker, you wanna play, we'll play."

Throwing his body at the man, he didn't realize the disadvantage that made for him and he gasped for air when a fist slammed against his stomach.

With the wind knocked out of him, he felt nearly all of his energy drain, and he slumped, simply taking the few more blows that came his way. What was the point? He was tired from work and a fight really wasn't something he was glad to be in.

The only thing he managed to get out while he was being hit was a weak plea for Marco to just stay back. There was no way he'd let him get in the middle of it.

When the man finished, he stumbled his drunk ass out, shouting more profanities as he went.

He left a bruised and bloodied Jean on the floor of the bar. The damage that had been done took form of a busted lip, a black eye, a bloody nose and a cut on the right side of his face.

"Jean! Oh god, Jean! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have listened! I should have grabbed him or something! Jean!"

Coughing, the blonde managed to chuckle, the one eye he could open desperately searched for the man that was now holding him. This was just so fucked up. Even if he wanted to stay away, he couldn't. Marco was like a drug to him. Marco was someone he felt he needed to protect. Someone he needed to be there for. Someone he needed to love.

"Makes me..think of middle school."

Jean was always quick to defend the boy when they were young, as his freckles were a frequent cause of teasing. 

Hissing at the pain that wracked his body, he managed to get up slowly, body leaning against Marco's as he shook his head. Even with everything that just happened, he wasn't angry. No, he was relieved. Marco hadn't been hurt.

"I'm glad..I decided to stop by.."

At first he was welcomed with silence but once he was sat and the dark haired male began to clean the cuts he had received from the fight, he began to speak. 

"Thank you, Jean."

"Don't thank me. I'll bitch about it tomorrow and I'll make sure you hear it."

"Oh? Does that mean you'll call me tomorrow?"

Jean watched as Marco's eyes lit up as they had the day they were reunited and there was another sharp tug to his heart. This wasn't good. Even if he gave in and decided to see Marco, he didn't plan to fall for him again. That just wasn't an option.

Hissing softly as the alcohol used to clean his wounds began to sting, he grumbled and averted his gaze. 

"I guess. I mean, I have off tomorrow, so it's not like I'm doing anything."

The smile that lit up Marco's face nearly gave him heart palpitations, and the only word he could think to describe it was angelic.

_It was then, that for the first time, he noticed that Marco had dimples._


End file.
